


The Pause Before Death

by i_amtheoutlaw



Series: Destiel Short Stories [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_amtheoutlaw/pseuds/i_amtheoutlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Dean Winchesters bypassed the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pause Before Death

_How a fist becomes a hand_  
It doesn’t happen often, and not to many  
But those with heart,  
The real heart,   
Those who understand that family doesn’t  
End in blood  
Will witness it, rarely, when they least   
Expect it.  
The prize will reveal it’s self  
Only after years of hardship,   
Years of never being good enough.  
A lifetime of only having love to give,   
Receiving only scars   
In return. Then only they  
 _Will watch a fist become a hand . . ._

The first time it happened  
The air was cold   
With eerie static, and his father   
Gazed into his eyes  
And told him something he’s never   
Once earned,  
“I’m proud   
Of you.”  
Only then did he realize that wasn’t his   
Father at all.  
On the verge of death, with nothing   
Else left to try  
He spilled the last   
Of him. Let his heart burst  
He begged, “Dad no, don’t.”  
And somehow  
 _The fist become a hand . . ._

The second time it happened  
Hurt worse  
Because unlike his birth   
Father, this man before him, taught   
Him much more, things his   
Father never could’ve.  
Yet, he couldn’t stop it  
He found himself, from the inside out  
Broken, and battered again  
Begging and pleading,  
“I know you’re in there,  
Please just don’t”  
And somehow, his heart won   
Again. And just as the black eyes turned to their rightful blue  
 _The fist became a hand . . ._

When it happened the third time  
He was more than ready to die  
Having decided already it would be his last   
Day on earth.  
He used his favorite song as a soundtrack,   
To mark his last ride  
And as Def Leppard's “Rock of Ages” blared,  
He drove, rumble of his baby beneath him.  
Fully ready for it to be the last   
Rock, the last   
Roar of an engine he’d ever   
Hear. He would go out   
This way, he knew it.  
So he gave them everything,   
Gave him all   
That he is  
He showed them the   
Insignificant punk,  
The annoying older brother,  
The fearless hunter,  
The righteous man,  
He’s always been   
He stood up to them, for the good of all  
Knowing his efforts were pointless, thinking he wouldn’t   
Save a single soul.  
But he took the beating from his brother.  
His brother Satan  
And, even as his face swelled,  
Bruised, bloodied, and broken,  
He gazed up into the hazel eyes he’s known forever  
And comforted his little brother   
One last time.  
Because that’s all   
He’s ever   
Truly been good at.  
“I know you’re   
In there, and I just want you   
To know it’s okay,  
I’ll be here with you.”  
And he couldn’t believe it this time   
As he watched   
_The fist of Satan himself become a hand . . ._

The last time it happened  
Still killed him  
Because unlike the love   
He felt for his possessed father figures,  
Or his brother,  
This love is different.  
He can only describe it as aching,  
Raw, throbbing, rough,  
A love that hurts   
Because it’s not returned.  
Sure, the angel above him cared,   
But caring   
Is not love.  
The angel’s afflictions   
Are for the good   
Of all.  
When his heart,  
His will,  
Wouldn’t let him stop,   
Stop praying, stop caring,  
Stop loving,  
Ever.  
Even when his face burned,   
Stung with gashes, made from angelic knuckles.  
Even when his face was painted, like an abstract   
Canvas, splattered with his bright, red blood  
He wouldn’t pull away.  
Couldn’t pull away.  
Instead he clung   
Tight with everything   
He could.  
His eyes found the hardened   
Sapphires, they stared lifelessly   
Back, and he held their gaze.  
He searched for contact  
Something he’s always, since recently, could live without  
And he found it.  
Clinging tightly   
To the sleeve, which clung   
To the arm that meant to end   
Him. Most importantly, he snatched   
The chance, in the last   
Moments of his life   
To make the angel understand  
“Please, don’t   
We’re family,  
We need you,   
I   
Need   
You.”  
And for the last time,   
So far,  
His righteousness proved strong  
And the angel’s blade   
Dropped, clanking loudly to the stone floor.  
A clamorous noise, that instead   
Of bringing annoyance  
For once,   
Brought hope  
And once again,  
 _He watched as the fist become a hand . . ._

Maybe the gift,  
Of turning a fist into a hand, isn’t really a gift   
After all.  
Maybe, in the end,  
Only they   
Who are cursed  
To a life of pain, have the power   
_To turn a fist into a hand._


End file.
